


Magnets

by Psychopersonified



Category: Dalton Academy Series
Genre: Epiphanies, Hurt, M/M, post hell night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:11:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8920219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psychopersonified/pseuds/Psychopersonified
Summary: "That moment of clarity? It sucked. It sucked like a gaping chest wound. To be faced with the possibility that the situation is even more fucked up than initially thought. That HE is more fucked up than he could imagine.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic. Originally on tumblr.

Logan doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting at the corner table in the hospital cafeteria. Since dinner maybe? It’s now late evening and the place is virtually deserted. It’s cold; the skin on his nose, shoulders and arms numb from it. Yet he doesn’t move, save to shiver now and then; an involuntary action. 

There’s a rhythmic clicking coming from the table. The magnets slide across the veneer towards each other as soon as he releases them; coming together with a satisfying *click. He’s been playing with them all night. Ever since he pulled them off the whiteboard hung on the wall next to his table. It’s comforting this compulsive repetition. The glue keeping him together. He doesn’t dare move lest he falls apart. 

—-

He had a rare moment of supreme clarity earlier in the evening. Dolce Larson had finally lifted sanctions to Julian’s room. The boy is not awake yet but he’s finally breathing on his own, they’ve removed the noisy respirators yesterday and he’s doing fine. 

He’d watched from across the hall the parade of visitors from Dalton, particularly boys involved in this whole mess. They were given only a few minutes at a time. They spoke in soft somber tones. It felt like a wake. Like they were paying their last respects, in the event that Julian doesn’t wake up. Logan despises it. How many will remember Julian once their lives get back to normal? He’ll be just a boy they used to go to school with. Nothing more. As if Julian wasn’t one of the most important people in his life. 

A face he did not expect to see, Joshua appears with Bailey. They nod in greeting, but say nothing to each other. It strikes Logan as Joshua turns his back to him, how familiar it looks. That lanky form, the soft mop of brown hair. And when he stops to talk quietly with the Windsor’s, including Blaine and Kurt; the blood drains from his face. 

This little committee of Logan’s former love interests. At one point they all turn to look at him, no doubt the conversation had turned to be about him. Not exactly subtle.   
He is faced with three different versions of Julian Larson. Three boys, each with a quality he sought to replicate. Blaine and his ridiculous singing talent, something he greatly respected and envied. Joshua who while talented, looked so much like Julian he could be a brother. And then there is Kurt. The headstrong diva that won’t suffer fools easily but for some reason made an exception for Logan. 

That moment of clarity? It sucked. It sucked like a gaping chest wound. To be faced with the possibility that the situation is even more fucked up than initially thought. That HE is more fucked up than he could imagine. 

He must have looked white as a sheet because Kurt made to approach him. No. Logan needed to space to breathe. He needed to be alone. This freight train of an epiphany is going to steamroll over him anytime and he doesn’t want to be bawling mess in front of everyone. He’s done that too many times in he past weeks already. 

\-----—

Which brings us back to the hospital cafeteria where Logan sits dumbfounded by his own dumb-assery. He feels like the biggest ass in history. He feels like pond scum-.. no, lower. What’s lower than pond scum? Logan can’t think of anything; so pond scum it is. 

Logan tries to remember every insult he’s lobbed at Julian the last three years. What was he really doing? Yeah the trio traded witty insults and comebacks regularly. It was their dynamic. And some of them were truly of gemstone quality. The kind that made them pause and acknowledge the brilliance of it all before laughing their butts off.   
But he digress. How about the insults that were really meant to cut? The ones that took the place of actual physical blows. Rarely were they between he and Derek. But much too often with Julian. What were they really doing? 

Another slide and *click of magnets. Maybe that’s what they were. Opposite poles inexorably attracted to each other. And everything else is his hands, keeping them apart.   
Stupid misunderstandings, twisted assumptions keeping them apart. Yet like the magnets they keep sliding towards each other. Maybe thats why they fought so much. They were fighting themselves. Reinforcing the force field around their own hearts, since they couldn’t have each other; or so they thought. 

Maybe that was why Logan was especially hard on Julian. Pre-emptively lashing out in self defense. His attempts to repel the attraction towards his presumably straight friend and save his soul. How deeply did he cut Julian when he did that? He thinks back to the past few months. How he’d practically thrown Kurt in Julian’s face. Was he subconsciously telling himself that Julian is replaceable? He might as well have stabbed Julian in the heart himself. 

Nausea threatens again. He’s already thrown up twice since leaving the hallway. His entire reality has been turned upside down. His universe unravelling. The established laws of physics no longer make sense. Nothing does. 

\---—-

Visiting time ended hours ago. It’s almost 1am and Logan is exhausted. He’s thrown up again. An exercise in futility. He hasn’t eaten anything since late afternoon.  
He creeps into Julian’s dimmed room and seats himself on he chair by the bed, resting his elbows on the mattress and his head in his hands. He studies the boy laying prone on the bed.   
“Jules.” Logan whispers almost reverently just to be able to say his name again. But it’s a mistake. The sound of his own voice, pleading and broken does him in. His breath hitches and pain blossoms in his chest again. 

Dark stains polka dot the bedsheets under him. It’s a second before he realizes it’s his own tears. On impulse he picks up Julian’s cold hand, covering it with his warmer ones. When the silent sobs come, he tries to stop them with the back of Julian’s hand. Pressing his lips against and even lightly biting the skin there. 

His tired mind runs away from him. Punishing him for his ignorance. He must be delirious because he starts to think of a life that could have been.   
High school sweethearts, prom, graduation, first night together, their first fight. Then maybe college for Logan, and a long distance relationship for them. First job for Logan, more awards and accolades, for Julian, maybe some flops as well. Logan by his side through it all. Derek’s wedding, maybe even their own. Amanda’s first boyfriend and Derek freaking out. Maybe kids, Derek’s and theirs….watching them grow. Weekly dinners at each other’s places. Everyone sitting on a patio someplace and growing old together. Snippets of a life that could have been. Like the montage in the opening scene of the cartoon Up. The one they had cried watching. Only, it’s just a dream. A handful of ‘what ifs’.

He doesn’t even get a shot at it. Hang on. That’s not right. He was given a chance. The moment the brunette boy with the sunglasses took the seat next to him. But he squandered it all away by being a coward and a selfish brat. 

Logan is shivering. The room isn’t cold. He is cold. What is Logan to do now? He’s in a state of limbo. What happens if Julian never wakes up? How does he move on?  
He’s so tired he can barely think anymore. And he’s run out of tears. He wipes his face on the bedsheets. Hygiene be dammed. He watches the subtle rise and fall of Julian’s chest. Small comfort; at least he’s still here. 

He studies the hand in his, rubbing his thumb across the thin skin covering the knuckles. How familiar those long elegant fingers. He strokes the palm open, absently drawing circles on it. On a whim, he draws another shape. The circles morph into hearts. 

“One more chance Jules. Just one more. I owe you, give me the chance to make it up to you."


End file.
